


Short and Sometimes Sweet

by silbecoo



Category: Daredevil (TV), The Punisher (TV 2017)
Genre: F/M, One Shot, One Shot Collection, One-Shot, clairedevil, collection, five line fic, kastle - Freeform, mattelektra, short fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-24
Updated: 2017-06-10
Packaged: 2018-07-26 08:37:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 51
Words: 8,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7567495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silbecoo/pseuds/silbecoo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is a collection of short Five Line Fics that are the result of an ongoing writing exercise on tumblr. Each chapter is a five line fic based on a single word/phrase prompt that some nice person has put in my tumblr ask box. So far I only have Kastle and Clairedevil ones, but I'm open to Malektra and Shadymariah as well. (the pairing will be in the chapter titles for quick reference even though it's almost all Kastle at the moment)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Coffee (Karen/Frank)

**Kastle + Coffee**

* * *

Karen has a fascination with Frank’s fingers, the way he gingerly holds the paper coffee cup to his lips.

It reminds her of the way he skims her bare skin, the calluses leaving a trail of goosebumps along her flesh.

And the way he closes his eyes for a split second after taking a sip, savoring the flavor on his tongue the way he does when he kisses her.

And the gentle inhalation when he first brings the coffee to his nose is just the way it sounds when he buries his nose in her hair and takes a deep breath.

On mornings like this it’s all she can do not to drag him back to the tangled sheets of her bed, coffee flavored mouth and all.


	2. Blood (Karen/Frank)

**Kastle + Blood**

* * *

It’s like a red carnation blooming across his chest, staining the snowy white of his undershirt.

Her heart stops when she hears the wet cough, sees his life as a ruby colored spray against the bricks.

The bullets in his heart are like little promises he’s been making her since the first time they met.

Just as she thinks her whole word is coming apart at the seams, every dreaded thing coming true, she wakes.

The sound of him shushing her sleep soaked whimpers is the only thing that brings her out of the nightmare.


	3. Eyes (Karen/Frank)

**Kastle + Eyes**

* * *

It’s not like he’s never seen blue eyes before, but Karen’s are like looking into a whirlpool of painful expectation.

It amazes him how heated the cool depths can sometimes seem, sparking with a passion he hasn’t seen in anyone in so long.

It’s her eyes that demand more of him, that refuse to look away even when his voice gets gruff and his jaw sets.

And when those eyes glisten with tears it would only take two words for him to break the legs of the person who makes her cry.

But he doesn’t know what to do when the crystal clear pools look at him full of loving adoration, the icy hand of fear making him breathless.


	4. Body Language (Karen/Frank)

**Kastle + Body Language**

* * *

He can’t ask her to stay again, because it was too hard to say the words even once, but he can’t help the way his hand slides across the table toward hers, fingers twitching desperately.

He won’t tell her that she’s the only thing that makes him feel human, but when she’s sitting next to him, even when they’re not touching, the tension rolls out of his body.

He doesn’t know how to explain that he cares, but his hand always finds the small of her back when they’re walking down the street, cold fingers absorbing her warmth.

She bites her lip when he asks gruffly if she wants to go get coffee and it sends an unexpected thrill of desire zipping through him, his nostrils flaring at the sensation.

He doesn’t know if “I love you” will ever pass his lips again, but when he falls asleep his body curls around hers, and sometimes he thinks that could be enough.


	5. Regrets (Karen/Frank)

**Kastle + Regrets**

* * *

Sometimes Frank wishes he’d never met her, the pain of remembering what it’s like to be human like a knife to the heart.

After a while he thinks maybe he’ll begin to forget her, let the memory of her coy smile and flushed cheeks fade like an old Polaroid.

But for now it’s like a bullet lodged in his chest, the wound closed up, phantom pains shooting through him at the strangest times.

All it takes is a flash of blonde hair, the quick steps of slender legs and feet clicking along in kitten heels, and he feels the persistent pang.

It wouldn’t be so bad if he could forget the heartbreak in her voice the night she realized he really was an unredeemable monster.


	6. Bullets (Karen/Frank)

**Kastle + Bullets**

* * *

Some people have a jar for change on their nightstand, something to drop coins into when they empty their pockets while getting undressed.

Karen has a little wooden ammo box, Frank’s name burned into the side in black boxy letters.

She found it at a flea market and spent days sanding down the rough surface before presenting it to him with a dramatic little flair.

She sweeps the bullets scattered across the top of her dresser into it, feeling a blush creep into her cheeks as he chuckles behind her.

She likes having a piece of him at her place, the first thing she sees when her alarm sounds in the morning.


	7. Flowers (Karen/Frank)

**Kastle + Flowers**

* * *

Karen tries to do it once a week, laying fresh flowers on all three graves, pausing briefly to pay respect on Frank’s behalf.

She knows he would do it if he could, that he would come and kneel on the beat down grass and softly speak to the three of them.

One day she gets a mystery delivery from a local florist, a giant arrangement of big white flowers.

The note says, “Calla Lilies were her favorite.”

That evening there’s a dark figure watching from the shadows as she lays the white flowers in front of Maria’s headstone.


	8. Birthday Present  (Karen/Frank)

**Kastle + Birthday Present**

* * *

Karen always spends her birthday alone, painful memories making it too hard to hear the cheerful voices of Matt and Foggy as they call to wish her well.

She leaves work early, finding a bit of peace on the nearly empty subway car, the click-clack of the train lulling her almost to sleep.

When she walks into her apartment her toe nudges a pastel envelop resting on the hardwood, her name written neatly in compact script across the front.

Inside is a delicately wrought Saint’s medal strung along a silver strand, glinting in the soft afternoon light.

She fishes the note out of the envelope, a helpless smile spreading across her face as she reads: _They tell me Saint Francis de Sales is the patron saint of writers… it seemed fitting._


	9. Desire (Matt/Claire)

**Clairedevil + Desire**

* * *

She misses the way his hands feel, gliding smoothly over the lines of her body, searching for answers to unspoken questions.

It’s the worst at night, when the dark encroaches, leaving her lonely and aching for his touch.

Sleep comes and so do the dreams, hot flashes of what they once had teasing her along helplessly into the abyss.

She tells herself over and over again that it’s better this way, a chasm of heartache all that’s left between them, but her body refuses to believe the lie.

He’s inside of her, an opiate burning through her veins, its pleasure sharp and unyielding even as it gives way to pain.


	10. Restless (Karen/Frank)

**Kastle + Restless**

* * *

Hot nights in the city are unbearable, the air thick and sticky with humidity, her a/c nothing but a barely sputtering hunk of scrap.

She gets twisted up in the sheets, the material clinging to her damp body like a second skin.

She’s taken to going up to the roof at midnight, like clockwork, to stand in her thin shift and let the cool air whip around her.

Frank catches this phenomenon once, watching from the adjacent rooftop through the glass of his binoculars, her building a pit stop on his nightly patrol.

She looks like an angel to him, translucent material swirling around her like wings, hair glowing in the moonlight like a halo.


	11. Dive (Karen/Frank)

**Kaslte + Dive**

* * *

She can’t believe this is how it’s going to end.

Frank is talking to her, but she can’t hear his words over the noise of blaring alarms and the howl of wind screaming through the plane’s empty cargo hold.

He’s slipping on the only remaining parachute, strangely calm amidst the chaos and destruction around them.

His arms are around her, pulling her white knuckles away from the cold metal, pausing only a second to yell over the cacophony, “Do you trust me?”

With bodies are entwined, sailing out into the night air with little hope of survival, she knows the answer to his question always has been, and always will be, yes.


	12. Reach (Karen/Frank)

**Kastle + Reach**

* * *

When he’s like this, quiet with eyes glazed over, staring inward into a pool of distant memories, it’s best to wait.

She aches to cling to him, to lay soothing hands on the battered planes of his face and will him to come back to her, but she knows better.

She waits.

And return he does, slowly piece by piece until there is light in his deep brown eyes again, life in his fingers as they twitch toward her.

And when he reaches out, capturing her fingers gently, bringing them to his lips gratefully, her heart finally unclenches.


	13. Boundaries (Karen/Frank)

**Kastle + Boundaries**

* * *

Frank had flinched the first time she ran her fingers through his hair, a bumpy little line of scar tissue across his scalp barely noticeable against her fingertips as they had roamed through his softly curling locks. 

It was the only scar he hid, the only one he’d rather she not mention even though she was intimately acquainted with every mark on his body.

Still, she knew not to do it again, instead slipping her hand down to rest against against the column of his throat every time she kissed him, shivering at the way his jaw stubble felt against her thumb.

And when she cut his hair, clippers buzzing gently in the quiet bathroom, she made sure to use a the quarter-inch guard instead of the eighth, gently brushing away the falling hair and leaving a quick peck on his cheek.

Some wounds took far longer to heal than others, and Karen really didn’t mind waiting.


	14. Fear (Karen/Frank)

**Kastle + Fear**

* * *

If anyone had ever told Karen how much fear a little sniffle would one day instill in her, she would have rolled her eyes and laughed it off.

She didn’t even known babies this small could sneeze like that, the sound scaring little Andrew, his eyes growing wide as he begins to howl.

Sometimes she wishes she could go back in time to when he was still under the curved swell of her stomach, safe from all the dangers of the outside world.

Frank’s gentle swaying is the only thing that quiets the child, and when Karen watches them together her heart aches with equal measures of love and sorrow.

She can’t imagine how hard this is for Frank, but he somehow manages to look down at their son with a smile on his face, softly murmuring a lullaby into the quiet night.


	15. Escape (Matt/Elektra)

**Mattelektra - Escape**

* * *

There’s only one way out and it’s in the opposite direction, but her heartbeat’s like a tether, the sound pulling Matt along even as the world around him begins to collapse in the near absence of sound.

They come at him from every direction with angry fists, aware of his abilities, masking their breaths, moving so fluidly their soft clothing doesn’t even whisper as they sail through the air.

One by one he knocks them unconscious, sickening thuds of skulls connecting with concrete echoing in the dank underground tunnels.

Her tomb is cold, damp stone rough against his fingertips as he pushes heavy lid aside, heart catching in his throat when the feeling is replaced by her soft skin.

He regrets nothing, because there wouldn’t have been an escape without her, no life left to live with the constant ache of knowing Elektra was here, alone.


	16. Flames (Karen/Frank)

**Kastle - Flames**

* * *

There’s nothing as cleansing as an out of control inferno, licking flames devouring everything they touch, leaving slowly dying embers and pale ash in their wake.

It’s the way Frank says goodbye, writing his name in the soot one last time before scrubbing it out with the toe of his boot and walking away.

He burns his own effigy, soaking it in gasoline, hoping she’ll let him die for good, let the man he once was float away on clouds of billowing smoke.

But Karen always finds him, smelling of smoke and flowers, streaks of ash staining her pale legs as she stomps after him.

She refuses to let him self-destruct, her jaw set in deadly determination as she approaches him, holding the last of his humanity to her breast like a talisman.


	17. Mistakes (Claire/Matt)

**Clairedevil - “Waste time with me and make mistakes with me”**

* * *

She can never say no to him, not when he’s bleeding freely on her doorstep, sheepish smile slanting across his face, a faraway gaze in his unseeing eyes.

She should be out in the world, looking for someone who will love her the way she deserves, someone who will cut the shit and quit wasting her time, but damn it, all he has to do is touch her like he’s seeing her for the first time, and she’s completely lost.

It’s a mistake, but they fit together like puzzle pieces, her feet planted firmly between his own, leaning into him as her fingers card through his messy hair looking for bumps and cuts.

And if there was anyone worth wasting time with, well it’s him, with his gentle hands and his heart that aches for the world around him.

And every time they end up twisted in her sheets, the pads of his fingers reading her body like a thousand page novel, she knows it’s a mistake she’ll make again and again.


	18. Caress (Karen/Frank)

**kastle + caress**

* * *

He has nightmares, sweat inducing terrors that imprison him in the darkness, that wrap chains around his torso, press the air out of his lungs.

In them he is dying a slow and painful death, watching everyone he’s ever loved get mowed down by live fire, nothing he can do to stop it.

Before, the visions lasted eons, time standing still in the abyss of his dreams, no power on earth strong enough to set him free. 

But now there’s Karen, and with one stroke of a cool finger across his damp brow it’s like the spell is broken, cool air rushing into his lungs as he comes back to reality, to her.

He could cry with relief when he opens his eyes, but instead he wraps his arms around her, holding her in a fierce embrace as the clamorous knocking of his heart slows to a peaceful patter.


	19. Are you wearing my hoodie? (Karen/Frank)

**Kastle + Frank: Are you... wearing my hoodie?**

* * *

She keeps to the shadows, following him like an amateur sleuth in spite of his insistence that she stay out of his business, just this once.

He ducks into an alley, his breathing slow and measured as he waits for her slip through the shadows after him.

He reaches out and hooks a hand under her elbow, and she opens her mouth to yell, stifling the sound with a squeak at the sight of Frank.

He should be angry, chastising even, but he can’t help but smile and ask in disbelief, “Are you… wearing my hoodie, Page?”

Bristling with indignation, trying to hide a hot blush suffusing her cheeks, she says, “Well, the ‘nefarious skulking’ section of my wardrobe doesn’t have a lot to choose from, Castle.”


	20. Ice (Karen/Frank)

**Kastle + Ice**

* * *

It’s cold where Frank is, but that isn’t exactly a surprise, being locked in a walk-in freezer and all.

It’s also dark, and he supposes the great hanging sides of beef don’t really have much use for illumination, so that’s not a surprise either.

What is surprising is the reinforced steel door that doesn’t even buckle when he barrels into it, and the frozen hinges that don’t even shudder when he shoots them.

He’s almost given in to the idea that he’s going to die here, curled up shivering next to some grade-A steaks, fingers unfeeling, the fog of his breath turning to ice crystals in his beard.

And then suddenly there’s an angel, backlit with blinding white light, golden hair floating down her shoulders , running toward him, holding him, shouting at him, “God damn it, Frank, don’t let go.”

_A/N: Drop a ship and a one line/phrase/word prompt in myask box on tumblr and I'll post it here, don't be shy._


	21. Tell Me You Don't Want This Too (Karen/Frank)

**Kastle + tell me you don't want this too**

* * *

He’s just here to keep her safe, to keep her warm in this drafty safe house, wrapping his arms around her out necessity, not desire.

That’s the lie he tells himself.

When she wakes in the night, all soft and vulnerable in his arms it’s hard not to react to the way she presses her lips against his, the way she breathes softly into his skin, asking a question with no good answer.

“Tell me you don’t want this Frank, tell me you don’t feel it.”

He’d promised to never lie to her, to never give her reason to doubt him, but there’s no way he can walk down this path, and his voice softly echoes off the walls, “I can’t feel anything, not anymore.”

_A/N: I love doing these. If you want to send me a prompt feel free to drop it in my[ask box](http://thekastlediaries.tumblr.com/ask)._


	22. I don't want Anyone Else (Karen/Frank)

**Kastle + I don't want anyone else.**

* * *

When he sees the spark of warmth in her eyes for a man who seems to be righteousness personified, a man who fights to hang on to his belief in goodness while dressed like the devil, it’s easy to tell her to hold on tight.

It’s harder when she’s looking at him with more than a spark, with a whole damn conflagration burning her up from the inside, nostrils flaring as she yells at him, “I don’t want anyone else, Frank, I want you!”

He can’t yell back, his heart whispering for her to just pick the better man, that it’s better for everyone involved if she would just stop being so stubborn.

But he’s not her keeper, or even her protector, and her fingers are white knuckled as she clutches at his shirtfront, holding him close enough to share his breath as it shudders against her lips.

He gives in, sighing against her, “Don’t let go, Page. It’s gonna be a bumpy ride.”


	23. Dance (Karen/Frank)

**Kastle + dance**

* * *

Frank’s hands skim her lower back, trailing along the edge of her low-cut dress before pressing gently into her spine to bring her close.

The two of them are blending in, mimicking the slithering movements of the other people on the dance floor, the beat of the music hot on their skin.

Karen reminds herself it’s all a ruse, that the darkly intoxicating pool of desire thrumming in her belly isn’t something she should be feeling, even when his hands travel further south to squeeze and press in even closer.

Just when she thinks maybe he’s forgotten too, forgotten that they’re here looking for a man with with pockets full of death and eyes full of malice, his mouth finds her ear lobe.

His breath hot and thready against her skin, music pulsing inside her, she struggles to hear him say, “Target acquired, time to go.”

_[Send me a word/phrase/sentence prompt + a ship for a five line fic](http://thekastlediaries.tumblr.com/ask) _


	24. Couch (Claire/Matt)

**Clairedevil + couch**

* * *

Matt’s overly familiar with the discomfort of the couch in the nurse’s lounge, with its lumpy cushions and mystery stains.

It’s where he waits and waits, while she makes the rounds, checking in on recently admitted patients, stepping up to the plate when things aren’t getting done.

Nine times out of ten he falls asleep waiting, his ears somehow able pluck out the sound of her voice three rooms down the hall.

Tonight she’s talking to a little girl, her words soft and gentle bouncing off the polished linoleum as they soothe the panicked child.

It’s hard to explain to other people without his ability how someone’s voice can feel like a touch against his skin, how waking up to the sound of his name on her lips is like feeling sunshine on his face.

_[Send me a word/phrase/sentence prompt + a ship for a five line fic](http://thekastlediaries.tumblr.com/ask) _


	25. Dreams (Matt/Elektra)

**Mattelektra + dreams**

* * *

Elektra’s dreams are dark, full of pain and anger and the constant threat of death. 

They make her heart race, her breathing ragged as she fights to escape the amorphous monsters trying to engulf her, to tear a hole in the prison-like realm.

Before, she would run until her lungs burned, adrenaline shooting through her sleeping form, everything in her believing she was a bout to die only to wake up screaming and alone.

But now there’s Matt, resting gently with his ear pressed against her sternum, waking in the dead of night to her thundering heart. 

His hands gently pull her from the abyss, mouth whispering soothing words into the darkness as he wraps his arms around her, holding her tight until her body relaxes into the safety of his embrace.


	26. Watching Hocus Pocus (Karen/Frank)

**Watching Hocus Pocus + Kastle**

* * *

“Is this… a kid’s movie?” Frank asks, shooting a sideways glance at his companion.

Karen’s eyes shine, chin tucking down deeper into her blanket she says, “I’ve had enough bloodshed and mayhem to last me a lifetime, so yes we’re watching a sort-of kid’s movie.”

Attention diverted from the screen, a blood-curdling scream catches Karen off-guard, and she flinches, fingers involuntarily gripping the edge of the blanket.

Frank reaches for her, a smile pulling at the corner of his mouth as he says, “C'mon Page. I’ll protect you.”

She rolls her eyes, settling into his embrace, mumbling to herself, “I can take care of myself.”

[Send me a one word/phrase prompt and I’ll write a five line fic](http://thekastlediaries.tumblr.com/ask)


	27. She gave me her hand and didn’t need more (Karen/Frank)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Missherowndreams said: _Okay, here is my prompt of Kastle (of course) to help with the fic for Halloween :P Just came to my mind an extract of 'The Truce' by Benedetti. "She gave me her hand and didn’t need more, enough to feel that I was welcome. More than kissing, sleeping together, more than anything else, she took my hand and that was love." Hope it inspires you :D_

They had talked about this, and he’d told her in no uncertain terms what she should choose, what he wanted for her life, but she’d never expected it to come to this, to a decision made in the dark of night, her heart thundering in her ears.

Their time is running out, sirens getting closer, and suddenly she’s living in a Robert Frost poem, a fork in the path of her life, no option to backtrack.

He won’t go back to prison, won’t die in some fetid cell, won’t face eternity in solitary confinement.

And she knows, one path is easy, a path back to creamy lattes and afternoons spent lounging on a bench in the park… a path without him, without the twists and turns of a life on the run.

Jaw set, she reaches for his hand, determination glimmering in her eye, silencing his protective protests.

[Drop a one word/phrase prompt + a ship in my ask box and I’ll write a five line fic](http://thekastlediaries.tumblr.com/ask)


	28. Stuffed Animals (Karen/Frank)

**Stuffed Animals + Kastle**

* * *

_(I cheated, it’s six lines oops)_

Frank’s gaze gets stuck on the teddy bear, it’s head cocked to the side like a drunk struggling to sit up straight, limbs loose with years of lost stuffing, a well loved thing.

“That yours?” he asks, a surprising hitch catching in his chest as he waits for her reply.

Karen blushes, looking up from the files in front of her and quickly explains, “I need more than a .308 to snuggle up with sometimes.”

He looks up, his verbal filter disappearing the way it always does around the tall blonde. “Lisa used to fall asleep with hers tucked up under her nose. Wouldn’t go to bed without it, no other toy would do.”

“It smells like home.” Karen says, watching Frank pick up the bear, her own heart pattering strangely as his nose brushes the top of the thing’s head.

He only nods, carefully placing the toy back against the pillow, his filter firmly back in place, one word slips out. “Yeah.”


	29. Echoes (Claire/Matt)

**Echoes + Clairedevil**

* * *

Claire closes her eyes and tries to ‘see’ the way he does.

At first it’s a cacophony of meaningless noise, the traffic outside, the voices down the hall, all grumbling together in a dull roar.

But then he moves beside her, curling into the hollow of her neck, his nose brushing her smooth skin and letting out a hot puff of air.

She focuses on the sound of his breathing, the noises in his chest, the thud-a-thud of his heart beating just a little faster than she expects.

It echoes inside of her, making every other sound fade away, reverberating beneath her fingertips.


	30. Blanket (Karen/Frank)

**Blanket + Kastle**

* * *

It’s such a gentle way to describe the pristine layer of white that softly covers everything the eye can see: blanketed with snow.

Quite a different thing to be the one who’s blanketed, cold seeping into her skin as the white falls, flakes catching in her hair.

Leg broken, she’s stuck, waiting and praying that Frank will find her before she succumbs to the tingling warm embrace of hypothermia.

A light pokes through the night, and Karen let’s out a sob of relief calling out his name in the dark.

His arms are warm around her, holding her close as he carries her through the woods back to safety and blankets made of something other than snow.


	31. Lingering Glances (Karen/Frank)

**Lingering Glances + Kastle**

* * *

He may not have super senses like the altar boy, but he can always feel when Karen’s eyes are on him, when the heat of her gaze slides down his frame.

It’s unspoken, this thing between them, and Karen is so often quiet that he wonders if he’s imagining the fire trickling down his spine.

But when catches her, blue eyes burning, cheeks flushed as she snaps her gaze up to him, she doesn’t bother to deny it.

Their eyes lock, and his nostrils flare with a frustrated gust of air, a curse forming under his breath.

Her lips are hotter than the longest lingering glances when they crash against his, her fingers ghosting along the paths her eyes once followed.


	32. Record Store (Karen/Frank)

**Record Store + Kastle**

* * *

They’re supposed to be tailing a possible lead when the man they’re following disappears through the dirty glass door of the record store, bell tinkling in the distance.

Karen and Frank follow close behind, slipping into their go-to cover without a word, Karen’s arm threading through Frank’s, her head inclined toward his.

It’s not the first time they’ve pretended to be a couple, and it’s surprising how little other people pay attention to them, paying no mind to the love struck pair thumbing through vinyl.

They lose the prick, watching in irritation as he slips though the back and into the alley, Karen sighing as Frank rockets out into the street going after him.

She turns to pay the man behind the counter for the record clasped between her fingers, a crooked smile tugging at the corner of her mouth as she reads: _That’s the Way of the World._


	33. Yoga Class (Frank/Karen)

**Yoga Class + Kastle**

* * *

The first time his mind goes blank it almost startles him back into reality, the stillness behind his eyes something he thought he’d never experience again.

And the noise… gone are the explosive cracks of gunfire that vibrate against his skull, the deafening sound of his own grief ringing in his ears.

He can only hear the deep breathing of everyone around him, his own beating heart, and the contented sigh of Karen as she blows out a relaxed gust of air in time with the yoga instructor.

When it’s over she sheepishly glances over at him, tucking a strand of limp hair back behind her ear before saying, “You don’t have to come again, I just thought… it wouldn’t hurt to try.”

He only nods, still wondering at the way he feels, barely thinking as he asks, “Same time next week?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (This is more like "meditation at the end of yoga class" but anyway :P)


	34. Office (Karen/Frank)

**Office + Kastle**

* * *

Karen stays later than she should, pouring over microfiche and dusty stacks of old periodicals, not noticing as the sun drops below the horizon.

Getting up to stretch, the darkness catches her off guard, the sudden realization that everyone else is gone making a chill go up her spine.

She nearly jumps out of her skin when her phone does a two beat vibration in her pocket, the glowing screen lighting up her easy smile as she reads the text from Frank’s burner.

Tapping out a quick reply, she hums softly and dons her jacket and scarf, making her way down to the street where a dark figure waits.

They don’t speak, instead walking in companionable silence through the dark, an indescribable feeling of contentedness hovering around the both of them.


	35. Underwear (Karen/Frank)

**Underwear + Kastle**

* * *

It’s the delicate lace against his fingertips that stops him, the edge brushing against Karen’s hip, her creamy skin smooth against his rough hands.

Her eyes fly open, chest heaving as she reaches for him impatiently, fingers twisting in his collar and pulling him closer.

She’s too soft, too feminine and sweet for his calloused touch and often angry words, and it’s the lace that reminds him of all these things as he tries to pull away.

“No,” she says, vehemently contradicting everything she sees in his eyes, continuing, “Please stay, Frank.”

A reluctant smile tugs at the corners of his mouth when she echoes the words that set them in this path, and there’s nothing he can do but see this journey to the end.


	36. Window (Frank/Karen)

**Window + Kastle**

* * *

He leaves notes tucked under the edge of her window sill, leads she should follow, places she should avoid.

Countless times she’s told him to just knock on the damn glass, wake her from her light and often troubled slumbers and just tell her what he wants.

It’s a while before she realizes he does it intentionally, waits until her bedroom light is doused, and it makes her irrationally angry.

So she waits in the dark one night, sitting by the cold window panes until she hears the telling creak of her fire escape.

He’s surprised when she throws open the window and whisper-shouts, “Get your ass in here Castle,” but it doesn’t stop him from grinning and ducking into the dark apartment.


	37. Insomnia (Karen/Frank)

**Insomnia + Kastle**

* * *

It’s too quiet, too much like home in Vermont used to be, the only sound the whispering of the trees insulating the little cabin from the rest of the world.

The silence keeps Karen awake, makes her jerk at every creak of the settling floorboards, every unexpected whistle of the wind against the extra layer of protective plastic stretched across the tiny windows.

She focuses her hearing, strains to make out the snicks and clicks of Frank snapping his guns back together as he cleans them, one rough-hewn log wall separating the two of them.

It’s hypnotic almost, whisper of the brush scraping song the inside of the rifle’s barrel, the soft swish of Frank’s fingers dragging an oily cloth against the metal.

Hours later, sound asleep, she barely stirs when Frank slides into the little bed beside her, the faint hint of gun oil pleasantly suspended in the air.


	38. Dreams (Karen/Frank)

**Dreams + Kastle**

Her dreams are like cotton candy, sweet and fluffy, dissolving in seconds, a desperate taste of something heavenly that haunts her for days.

They’re unrealistic little slices of a possible future that leave her feeling like the most naive fool on the planet.

She should actively try and make them stop, accept that those nights spent locked in the soft embrace of her deadly lover are the only thing she’ll ever have with Frank.

But she can’t, because dreams filled with his smile, his rumbling laugh, with children that have her wavy blonde hair and his dark eyes, don’t feel so much like dreams as much as they do hopeful premonitions.

And as much as the world tries, it can’t stamp out the hope that lives in Karen’s soul, the hope she feels when he pulls her close in the night.


	39. Nightmares (Karen/Frank)

**Nightmares + Kastle**

She doesn’t dream in color, but neither does she dream in black and white.

It’s shades of blue that color her slumber, and his skin is the palest blue she’s ever seen, an icy canvas covered with dark navy stains that can only be bruises, slashes of blood the color of blueberries smeared across his face.

And he’s as still as a sculpture - static as though he’s never moved, not once in a thousand years - and as much as she tries, there’s no way to pick him up, no way to breath life into his cold lungs.

Because in the nightmares she’s as pale and cold as he is, her soul already cleaved from her body, death hanging around her in a bright almost gleefully evil blue aura the color of forget-me-nots.

But when she wakes, the sun is soft and yellow, streaming through the blinds, Frank warm beside her, his skin flush, in living color.


	40. Breathless (Karen/Frank)

**Breathless + Kastle**

One hand at her throat, fingers measuring her jumping pulse, the other hand at the apex of her thighs, touch maddeningly deliberate.

She pants out a desperate plea for him to unleash whatever it is he’s holding back, to break her into a thousand pieces and not worry about putting her back together, and it elicits an amused chuckle against her skin.

Her wish is his command, deliberate strokes of callused fingers becoming rough fast, her answering fingernails digging crescent moons into his back.

She thinks maybe she’ll never breathe again, all the air escaping her lungs in a strangled cry as she arches against him.

They don’t talk after, and when he leaves it’s like he took all the air with him.


	41. Hope (Karen/Frank)

**Hope + Kastle**

Hope is a girl with dark eyes and a soft spot for her taciturn father.

Hope makes Frank feel like someone has removed his heart and put it in fragile glass box outside his body, and any day now it might be crushed like it was before.

Hope touches his bruises and traces their edges while her mother looks on bemusedly, wondering if the child has ever seen her father without some kind of contusion on his face.

Hope was an accident that sent both of her parents into a spiral of fear and misgiving, Frank wondering if he was human enough to have a family again, and Karen wondering if she was strong enough.

Hope likes the way her parents’ heartbeats seem to sync up when she’s lying between them in bed, the thunderstorm outside nothing more than a dull roar.


	42. Fuck (Karen/Frank)

**Fuck + Kastle**

He loves it when she says, “Fuck!”

Angry and passionate, she flings it at him during the peak of an argument, and all he can see is her sparking eyes and the blood rushing beneath her skin.

Twisted in the sheets, legs wrapped around his hips, she hisses it in his ear as stars explode behind her eyes, and all he can feel is the way he’s surrounded by her.

Embarrassed, she mumbles it when she’s drunk and cannot seem to walk straight, and all he can do is laugh at the careful way she clings to his arm and walks on her tiptoes to avoid cracks in the sidewalk.

And once, when all seemed lost, she cursed he universe, saying it over and over again as her tears fell against the side of his face, and all he could feel was the shaking of her body as she used the palm of her hand to keep his heart beating.


	43. Swallow, Run, Rum, Knees, Wander (Karen/Frank)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> someone sent multiple one-word prompts in one ask, so I decided to make them all linked into one narrative...let me know what you think (ps my ask box is now empty :O)

**Swallow**

The coffee goes down smooth, the column of her throat tensing in a way that makes Frank stomach jump. 

His fingers twitch at her almost inaudible hum of satisfaction, for the first time in so long aching to feel something other than the cool metal of a trigger. 

He withdraws his gaze, looking down at the paper on the table between them, clearing his throat to say, "This is it? An address and the combination to a safe that's probably empty? It'd be quicker if i just put two in the back of his head." 

She shakes her head, and there it is again, that fucking distraction that comes with her hair brushing against the cream of her skin, words quickly tumbling out into the quiet, "I need those contracts to prove he's been laundering money for crooked politicians... then you can do whatever the hell you want." 

It almost sounds cold, words clipped, even a little vindictive, but Frank can see the way her finger twitches against her mug, the searching look in her eyes - he wishes he could stop seeing - so he just nods, picking up the paper and tucking it under his jacket. 

**Run**

”RUN!” He screams at her from the entrance to the building, bullets whizzing by his head as he turns back to face the people chasing them. 

It’s hard for her to leave him, but she knows he’s more than capable of handling himself, and the contents of the safe clutched to her chest need to make it out of the burning building or this whole escapade of theirs was for nothing. 

Hours later, she pulls up to their meeting spot, limping, cold fingers clinging to a delicately carved wooden box, it’s brass latches frosty in the night air. 

With each passing minute, a little sliver of hope is shaved away, and tension begins to collect in her shoulders, _You shouldn’t have left,_ ringing in her ears. 

But then there are lights cutting through the woods, footsteps crunching through the dry leaves, and before Frank even steps into the clearing, she’s running, box flying to the ground. 

**Rum**

She stares down at the box in open astonishment, fingers shaking with anger as she reaches down to pick up the etched glass bottle, tracing the the lettering she hisses, “Are you _fucking_ kidding me?” 

Frank only shrugs in response, turning away from her to retrieve two glasses from his cabinet. 

He pours them both a healthy portion of the amber liquid and pushes one tumbler toward Karen, his eyes scanning her face, watching the rage shimmer just beneath the surface, “Must’ve known you were onto him. Ten to nothing all physical evidence of the corruption is gone.” 

She snatches up the glass and gulps down the burning liquid, uncorking the bottle the pour the glass full again, and snarls at no one in particular, “Why does this have to be so fucking hard?” 

One corner of Frank’s mouth twitches up, his eyes catching the light of the moon as it passes through the window. “If it were easy, the cops would have done it a long time ago.” 

**Knees**

Five hundred dollar bottle of rum empty, Karen moves from her seat in Frank’s makeshift kitchen, feeling wobbly and more than a little done with the world. 

She barely notices the throbbing pain in her knee, wincing only slightly as she moves toward the cot in the corner, but Frank is too perceptive, jumping up to stop her. “Let me see.” 

It’s a bruise, black and ugly in the middle, varying purple hues toward the edge, and she knows it’ll hurt like hell in the morning, but all she can think about right now is the way his palm cradles the back of her calf, his fingers tracing along the skin to see if it’s more than just a bruise. 

He’s on his knees in front of her, probing the injury, and the alcohol makes her bold, light-headed as she reaches out to thread her fingers through his hair, the unruly curls that he’s let it grow into. 

It’s a nurturing move, a desire to comfort that she has been long tasked with suppressing, and she waits for him to snatch his fingers away, to stomp over to the other side of the cabin, to slam the door and leave her alone in the dark. 

**Wander**

Frank would never admit it to a soul, but he’s touch starved, and Karen’s fingers against his scalp, pushing his hair back away from his face, feel like fire against his skin. 

He’s not like he used to be, not present one-hundred percent of the time, and his mind can sometimes play tricks on him, can wander away into impossible realms, so he doesn’t trust the scene before him: a beautiful woman with bedroom eyes and soft hands. 

“Frank,” she says, his name so soft in the air between them that he’s not quite sure it’s real, and the rum doesn’t help either, making him feel warm underneath his rib cage, almost as if his heart has started to beat again. 

But her touch, it’s like an anchor holding him to earth, and he knows it’s real, not fair, but real. 

All of her distractions are bundled up into one neat package before him, her soft lips, the flush of her skin, the pulse jumping at her neck that is begging for the pad of his thumb, it’s all here, and for the first time in a long time he thinks he can afford to be distracted.


	44. Rain, bare, peach, clock, knuckles (Karen/Frank)

**Rain**

Getting caught in the rain is for lovers, not a man on the run and a woman who won’t stop pestering him about his nasty penchant for killing anyone who looks at him sideways. 

It happens when Karen’s yelling at him - the clouds opening up mid-sentence - nowhere to run to, nowhere to hide from the deluge of freezing water. 

Instantly her hair is plastered to her skin, and she’s cold, the chattering of her teeth seriously undermining what it is she has to say. 

Frank’s as still as a statue, standing there with the water cascading off of him in cold rivulets, immovable as always. 

Angry, she moves past him, refusing to take a look to see if he’s following her home. 

**Bare**

Her apartment door slams behind her, and still she doesn’t check to see if the dark figure of her brooding companion has followed. 

She’s cold, her blouse soaked through lands in the floor with a wet slap and her toes squish in her ruined flats so she kicks them off a little more forcefully than necessary. 

She ignores the quick tattoo on her door, instead sliding her skirt off and hanging it on the back of a chair, knowing damn well that it’s Frank and that he’ll wait as long as she makes him. 

That’s another thing that pisses her off, the fact that he never knocks twice, that he just fucking knows she’ll eventually open the door for him, that she’s so predictable, that he’s so constantly unruffled. 

Spinning on her heel, she stomps over to the door and yanks it open, her bare skin chilly, a whisper of goosebumps racing across her body as the air whooshes past her limbs. 

**Peach**

Frank may seem unaffected by the willowy blonde in front of him, her long legs bare, the high-cut lace panties accentuating the curve of her hip. 

And perhaps she doesn’t notice the way his nostrils flare, eyes darting from one point of interest to another: her glowing eyes, the dip of her waist, one creamy shoulder, then the other, the nearly transparent lace cups covering dusky peach nipples. 

It only takes a few seconds for the image of a half-naked Karen Page to become permanently imprinted in his memory, Frank barely twitching even though his nerve endings are on fire, and this seems to irritate her, because she abruptly turns away. 

He watches her leave - the small of her back, two little dimples at the base of her spine - his eyes scanning at leisure as he closes the door behind him 

She disappears into her bathroom only to return seconds later, throwing a towel at him, gruffly saying, “Dry off before you catch a cold or something.” 

**Clock**

They sit at her little kitchen table in silence, listening to the seconds go by with the ticking of the clock on the wall. 

The coffee in their mugs is hot, and Karen is now clad in a fluffy bathrobe and Frank is sitting across from her in nothing but a towel, his clothes drying over the radiator. 

It’s kind of like a staring contest, only Frank blinks whenever he wants, and Karen is having a hard time maintaining the intensity of her gaze with such a fucking distraction sitting in front of her. 

Frank is covered in scars, thin white lines that have long since healed, deeper red welts that are fresher, even a gash over his shoulder that appears to be bleeding still, and yet Karen can’t stop thinking about what it might be like to run her lips over those marks. 

Suddenly the ticking of the clock is maddening, and she can’t take the silence any longer, blurting out, “I should have punched you when I had the chance. Maybe you wouldn’t have put a bullet in the only lead I’ve had in weeks.” 

**Knuckles**

Her comment prompts Frank to rise from his chair, coming around the table to stand perilously close to Karen, the fluffy towel hanging indecently low on his hips. 

“Come on,” he says, hand at her elbow pulling her up out of the chair, “You ever punch someone in the face? Hurts like hell if you don’t do it right.” 

He doesn’t let her go, instead sliding his grip from her elbow down to her wrist, pushing back the loose sleeve of her robe, continuing, “When you make a fist, fold your thumb across your second and third knuckle.” 

He’s too close, and Karen thinks, almost hysterically, that this feels like some kind of twisted foreplay, all the heat in her body rushing through her and settling in the pit of her stomach as he drags his thumb over her knuckles. 

He’s standing in front of her now, letting go of her arm and reaching for her face, he catches her chin, tipping her face up to his, “And make sure you keep your chin down when you throw a haymaker, Page. You can knock a man out cold, I’m sure.”


	45. Bed, Breathless (Elektra/Matt)

**Mattelektra + Bed**

This isn’t exactly what Matt had in mind when he’d suggested going over questioning tactics. 

She’d agreed too quickly, nodding rapidly and practically pushing him into the dark apartment. 

But he can appreciate her consideration for his heightened senses, silk scarves slipping pleasant against his wrists as she knotted them to the bedposts, the tips of her manicured fingernails gently dragging down his bare chest. 

“Matthew…” she whispers, smiling down at him, face flush with anticipatory heat, her heartbeat echoing in his ears, “… why did you hide my knives?” 

Internally he curses, trying to repeat his previous argument against her brand of vigilantism, but it’s impossible to focus with her bare thighs astride him, pouty lips millimeters from his own.

**Mattelektra + Breathless**

Not even half an hour later and the tables have turned, Elektra’s eyes rolling back in her head in pleasure as she holds on for dear life. 

There has never been another like him, no one who listened to her breathing, using it like a road map to all the most sensitive parts of her body, lingering when the sound in her chest hitches, doubling down when she whimpers in the back of her throat. 

Like most lawyers, Matt can be quite persuasive with his tongue, but she doubts any of his opponents have been subjected to this level of thoroughness. 

It’s a crime, the way he looks up at her after she arches against him, so self satisfied, so pleased with himself, head cocked to the side slightly as he listens. 

It makes her self conscious, her heart hammering against her sternum, breaths still coming short and desperate, but he just climbs up beside her and tucks her under his arm, and for a second or so she actually starts to believe the world might be safe enough. 


	46. Ache (Karen/Frank)

Kastle + Ache

They’ve started and stopped so many times she’s lost count, Frank always pulling away at the last possible second, his fingers lingering a beat too long on her skin.

The thought of him is like a gentle ache at the back of her throat, an ache that grows and spreads through her limbs until her whole body pulses with the need to draw him close.

It’s worse when he disappears for weeks, showing back up on her doorstep with bruises painting his skin, a slight hitch in his movements.

Before she can think, her hands are on him, probing for the source of his pain, finding only heat and smooth skin.

He catches her wrist, fingering the fine bones of her wrist until he finds her frantically fluttering pulse, eyes locking with hers, a matching ache in their depths.


	47. Poker (Karen/Frank)

Kastle + Poker

Foggy hates poker nights, because he never wins, leaving with empty pockets every damn time.

Matt fingers the brail along the edge of the cards, a smug look on his face as he listens to everyone’s breathing, the beating of their hearts, gauging the heat on their skin like a human lie detector.

And Karen has a surprisingly amazing poker face, her sweet expression never faltering, no matter how shit her hand is.

And Frank, when he comes (much to Matt’s irritation), is like a statue, not a muscle twitching, no emotion flitting across his face.

Only once does Frank’s stony facade crack, when Karen’s fingertips brush against the silent man’s scarred knuckles, his eyes darting to the wave of shimmering blonde hair beside him, adam’s apple bobbing unexpectedly, but Foggy’s pretty sure it doesn’t have anything to do with the cards in his hand.


	48. Karen helping Frank get dressed in a suit to take the stand. (Karen/Frank)

**Kastle + Karen helping Frank get dressed in a suit to take the stand.**

Frank’s eyes are unfocused, like he’s staring at something miles away, staring right through her and the guard standing by the door to the holding cell.

He makes no move to raise his arms when she drapes the tie around his neck, so she shifts closer, reaching forward to flip up the starched collar, her fingers brushing against the skin of throat.

Standing like this is intimate, nose to nose, chest to chest, he’s not staring into the distance anymore, his intensely dark eyes boring right into her.

A part of her knows she should be filled with fear, that the intensity of his stare is fueled by hate and a need to embark on a bloody rampage, but his breath mingles with hers, and the air crackles between them, and it’s not like anything she’s ever felt before.

Her hands go still against his shoulders, done with their previous task, and for a moment she’s accosted with the strangest desire to raise up on her toes and place a gentle kiss against his bruised skin.

She blinks, suddenly remembering where she is, and _who_ he is, stepping away from the strange warmth as though she’s been burned.

_(I cheated and wrote six lines_


	49. Honor (Karen/Frank)

**Honor + Kastle**

Words lose their meaning when he stares at them a too long, and the tiny type marching across the dirt smudged newsprint in his hands isn’t any exception.

Honor... its like he’s staring at ancient glyphs painted on the side of a cave wall, a foreign tongue he has no memory of.

She wrote it, about him, about his mission, about the man he once was, and there’s a question posed at the end that has his eyes glued to the page, that makes him feel… something, when he’d rather feel nothing at all.

“Can honor be lost or gained, or is it part of people, written into their genetic code, as indelible as the shape of their heart?” she wants to know.

In his minds eye he can see her, hunched over her laptop typing away, that fierce look of concentration making her bite her bottom lip, thinking about him.

He scans back up the page to read it again, no closer to an answer than he was before.


	50. Dancing (Karen/Frank)

**Dancing + Kastle**

They’re both wired, Frank as usual from an elephant size serving of coffee, and Karen still buzzing from the thrill of the success of their latest investigation (a kidnapping victim returned to the loving arms of her family, her captor suffering from a possible concussion downtown).  


Karen’s awash in good vibes, and she thinks nothing could ruin her night, until the familiar twang of a nasally voice echoes across the diner from the juke box.

She wrinkles her nose, blurting out, “God, I hate country music,” her cheeks warming as the expression on Frank’s face changes, his eyebrows shooting up, that damn corner of his mouth twitching.

Next thing she knows he’s slowly easing her out of the booth, fingers entwined, free hand pressed firmly against her back as he squares their bodies.

Vaguely she hears herself asking him where he learned to do this, but the sound is far away, and the only thing she can focus on his the soft and sad look in his eyes when he answers, “Maria.”


	51. Just don't go... (Karen/Frank)

**Just don't go... + Kastle**

“Frank, please, tell me what I can do!“

The sound of her voice is frantic, but it’s impossible to concentrate with the sharp pain slicing just behind his eyes.

It’s like there’s a meat cleaver lodged in his brain, the pain blinding him as he doubles over, sheets twisted around his body, fingers unconsciously twisting them up until his knuckles are white. 

He knows he’ll be okay, it’s happened before, but it’s impossible to articulate anything, all of his strength focused on not losing consciousness.

“Just don’t go…” he finally ekes out through labored grunts, and he thinks maybe she understands, the cool sweep of her fingers brushing against his hairline.

**Author's Note:**

> My tumblr [Ask Box](http://thekastlediaries.tumblr.com/ask) is always open for prompts and you don't have to be a user to drop one in. :D Come see me.


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